


Hold on Back (Before Stepping Forward)

by miobambiino



Series: 'Hold On Back' Verse [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), basically a mission-gone-wrong fic, not-really a cabin fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miobambiino/pseuds/miobambiino
Summary: 'It was supposed to be a straight-forward operation: get in, retrieve the data from the hydra outpost on the Winter Soldier project, and get back out. Sure, they hadn’t been cocky about it, they prepared well and took the necessary precautions; what they hadn’t counted on, however, were the agents to be armed with extra-terrestrial weaponry.'The team are stuck in the middle of the Norwegian wilderness after the jet takes a hit, and Tony and Steve begin to rekindle their relationship after the fallout of Civil War.





	Hold on Back (Before Stepping Forward)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/gifts).



> My first fic dedicated to one of my main sources of avengers-related inspiration, MusicalLuna! There are so many things I would change about this now but it kind of has a special place in my heart from being my first attempt at fic-writing. Also, this hasn't benn beta'd, so forgive any mistakes I didn't catch - enjoy!

“I’m holding you to this, Wilson.”

Clint’s quip only served to deliver himself a considerably sized handful of snow from Natasha and a long-suffering sigh from Rhodey, who was largely consumed in a startlingly orange SHIELD-issue puffer jacket he’d picked up before everything went to hell on the jet.

Clint had his arm swung round Sam’s shoulder, Steve on his other side, helping the injured man trek through the snow.

“Gee thanks, Barton - hey, next time, I won’t step in to shove this goon out the way a hail of fire. You’d be cool with that, right man?” Sam shot back without much heat, gesturing toward Steve who was supporting most of Sam’s weight on his side. Not that it was particularly strenuous for him, being a super soldier and all.

“’M'not a goon,” Steve mumbled through a barely concealed smirk, “I could’ve handled it jus’ fine.”

It was supposed to be a straight-forward operation: get in, retrieve the data from the hydra outpost on the Winter Soldier project, and get back out. Sure, they hadn’t been cocky about it, they prepared well and took the necessary precautions; what they hadn’t counted on, however, were the agents to be armed with extra-terrestrial weaponry. Tony had marked it up to being modified Chitari weaponry. Apparently not even S.H.I.E.L.D had the scope to track down every piece that went missing from the Battle of New York - alien weaponry tended to sell fast and at insane prices on the black market.

The mission had gone as expected up until Hydra pulled the big guns out, literally. Hydra had concentrated their efforts to strike-team alpha - Steve, Bucky, and Sam. Since the loss of their asset, Hydra have been particularly keen on getting their hands back on a super soldier, or two. Sam had only just managed to swoop down to push Steve out of the way of a blast that would surely have immobilised him for the rest of the operation - only in doing so did he crush his left arm under his own and Steve’s weight at an unnatural angle.

Hydra weren’t incompetent, they knew how to launch an attack. Agents had hounded on each division of the team like a pack of ravenous dogs. By now, they knew what to expect from the Avengers, and were merciless with their approach. Rhodey and Tony had been disabled by an intense EMP developed for their suits especially, delivering excruciating electrical shocks through them, weighed down by motionless tonnes of metal. Sam had a clean break to his arm, and Clint wheezed with each step he took. Possible broken ribs, Steve had thought - praying it wasn’t a punctured lung too. Himself and Bucky weren’t badly off, though both exhausted enough that the trek in the middle of knee-deep snow was taking its toll. Besides, neither of them had particularly fond memories of the ice.

After hastily retrieving the data they had come for, they withdrew to the quinjet. The jet wasn’t much better off than they were, and in the mist of the battle, they hadn’t noticed a one piece of critical information.

There was a stowaway onboard.

 

* * *

 

_“Fall back!”_ Steve hollered which holding Sam to his side, who had taken on a sickly grey tone to his skin. The break was bad, and Sam was only dimly aware of the situation going on around him.

Steve had his back, though. _I’m gonna be okay_.

Natasha and Clint turned on their heel every so often on their sprint back to the jet, firing minimal but fatal shots to their attackers who were starting to get desperate. Usually, Hydra wanted to keep most of them alive; Avengers made for spectacular bargaining chips - or so they assumed, since it wasn’t like they’d ever managed to hold on to one very long (Bucky’s time as the Winter Solider doesn’t count).

Bucky was waiting for them at the bay doors, watching his teammates’ backs as they drew nearer to the jet, using a sniper-rifle to pick out hydra agents who were getting too close for comfort. Clint and Natasha eventually joined him, Nat starting up the engine ready for a hasty retreat.

“Colonel! Can you manage?” Steve had yelled over his shoulder as he neared the bay doors with Sam. Rhodey and Tony were a few short paces behind, both armed but weighed down by the armour they hadn’t been able to scramble out of in time.

“Worry about yourself, Rogers!” He shot back with gritted teeth; though the prosthetics wrapped around his legs allowed him to move his legs again, it wasn’t exactly easy sailing running through snow while under fire.

They all reached the bay doors, Tony and Steve scrambling on as it began lifting off the ground - they’d wanted to get Sam on first, Rhodey heaving him up from inside the jet. Steve hauled himself up with a grimace, automatically reaching for the scruff of Tony’s undersuit and yanking him the rest of the way up unceremoniously too.

That earned him a steely glare from Tony, who shrugged off Steve’s arm and stood up just as the bay doors firmly closed behind them with a small hiss.

“I’m capable of managing myself, thanks.” Tony breathed out as he brushed past Steve towards the cockpit where Nat was driving the jet forward. Steve watched as the smaller man sauntered off and hefted himself into the co-pilot seat, tapping in co-ordinated for the nearest landing zone occupied by friendlies. Steve huffed out a barely suppressed sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose firmly, pursing his lips tightly together.

“Didn’t say you were, Stark.” He said, mostly to himself. Since the ordeal with the accords, the team had shoddily come back together for ‘the greater-good’, as out by Agent Hill. Hydra may have crawled back into the shadows they had come from, but they were certainly no-less of a threat than they had been before. If anything, their recent losses to Cap and his team made them itching to strike back, harder and more efficiently. Steve was so tired of fighting them, a bone-deep kind of tired that permanently was etched into his features.

_Cut off one head, two more shall grow in its place._

A stifled groan escaping Sam’s lips drew his head out of the back of his mind - somewhere he was venturing far too often these days, and he came to his side.

“Hey listen man, I know I fucked up back there, I didn’t pan it all the way through. It _really_ could of gone better-”

“Don’t- just don’t put this on yourself, Sam” Steve cut in, “the op was going to hell before you were down, we-”

This time it was Sam that cut him off, “I don’t regret doing it, hell, I know it was going to shit before I went and broke my damn arm, but still, I held you and Buck back. Pro'ly would’ve gone better if I landed right but,” Sam hissed as Steve wrapped up his injured arm, but carried on a beat later, seemingly ignoring what was bound to be an apology from Steve, “but, like I said, I’m not going to be sorry for saving your ass - again.”

That earned a snort from Steve, who finished up wrapping his arm when Clint plonked himself down on the bench opposite Sam. The archer tsked as he adjusted his quiver, loosening it up off his shoulder, shaking his head slowly.

“Can’t take this guy anywhere,” he drawled playfully. Sam eyed him dubiously, a quirk playing on the corner of his mouth. “See, if you landed on your own two feet instead of - you know - your fuckin’ face, we might’ve had a slightly smoother exit back there.”

Clint was clearly joking as an effort to ease the sense guilt he and Steve both knew Sam was harbouring. He’s saved Steve and probably actually given them a great chance of getting out alive - two super-soldiers is better than one, after all. Though, Sam had felt particularly useless while he was consumed in agony and had to rely on Steve to keep his head on straight while they made their escape.

“C'mon Sam, don’t flatter yourself, you aren’t all that hard to carry you know” Steve smiled at his friend, who returned the expression albeit slightly twisted in pain. “And he landed in his arm, not his face, Clint.”

“Huh, why’s it look all funny like that then?” Clint asked, feigning genuine curiosity. Sam merely rolled his eyes, nonchalantly taking his right combat boot off to throw at the archer’s head.

“Violence is not key” Nat’s voice rang from the front of the jet, not taking her eyes off the windscreen for a moment while she steered them away from any immediate danger.

They hydra outpost was desolate and practically impossible to reach on foot. Out in the wilderness of Norway, it had been hard enough locating the outpost which - like most of hydra’s bases - was underground. The landscape was covered in a thick layer of snow, making the mountains in the distance barely visible through the snowfall which was beginning to pick up at a reasonably worrying pace.

“We’re low on fuel, Tony, is there anywhere we can set down in range or do I just land us in the next clearing?” Natasha’s face was set with grim determination. She was the same after every mission, only tending to her own injuries until they were definitely out of the fray; not that she ever let on to anyone she was hurting. That had been one of the first things trained out of her - _showing weakness._

Tony huffed in frustration, and smacked the dash fruitlessly when the systems wouldn’t cooperate properly. This was his tech, damn it! It should be fully operational no matter the weather - snow storm be damned.

“Nada I’m afraid,” Natasha tossed a glance his way and a frown made its way between her brows.

“’ _Nada_?’ Seriously?” Tony just nodded in response, glancing back with a tight-lipped smile when Rhodey appeared over their shoulders.

“God, don’t pull that face, it’s not near as assuring as you think it is.” Rhodey laughed softly, then directed his attention to Nat.

“Systems aren’t fully functional, though you’ve probably figured that out for yourself.” The man said as he shuffled into a seat behind them, leaning forward into their space from his seat. “Must’ve become compromised by stray shots from the agents back there. Best bet is to land somewhere far enough away from that mountain range - we need a signal strong enough to get back a message to base to come get us out of here.”

Natasha nodded, and began to open her mouth when a loud electrical whine sounded from under the jet. After a moment the whine grew into an even louder blast that thrummed through the belly of the jet.

Steve and Bucky shot up from where they stood, only to stumble when the jet shuddered unnaturally. Clint reached across towards Sam and strapped him in, despite the other man’s protests, and gripped firmly onto one of the bright yellow handles swinging idly from the ceiling of the jet.

_“What the fuck was-”_ Clint’s surprised outburst was interrupted with the unmistakable sound of metal groaning underneath them.

Not a moment later the right engine startled to a halt, sending a few of them sliding into the opposite wall. The jet veered downwards, and alarms began blaring throughout the jet, seeing streaks of red lights across the interior.

Steve barely had a second to bark out a command to hold on before another blast rung through the jet, and the second engine failed on them. Steve felt his stomach suspended until it made a sickening drop and the jet plummeted downwards. Natasha unbuckled herself from the pilot seat, and in an instant as lunging behind the cockpit, hauling Tony with her and pushing Rhodes backwards with the force she exerted. Tony yelped before springing into action and holding onto his best friend, dragging them both to the back of the jet where Barnes was currently punching in an emergency code to open the bay doors.

Nat knew just as well as Bucky that they had a better chance of survival making a jump for it out the bay doors than being in the cockpit, where they’d most likely be skewered by the glass of the windshield when it shattered on impact.

The doors hissed open and immediately the team were encompassed my the freezing-cold air whipping through the door. Bucky grabbed onto one of the yellow handles with this metal arm and craned his head out the door, judging the drop distance from the falling aircraft.

His head whipped back to face the team, faces set determinedly, and yelled over the loud whistle of air around them.

“We gotta jump on my count or it ain’t gonna be a pretty landing!” He bellowed at them, while Steve approached him, gripping into his friend’s shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze.

“On his mark!” Steve repeated behind him, while Nat pulled Sam to her side, bracketing her body against his to insulate the fall in the hope of avoiding injuring his arm any more that it already was.

Tony felt Rhodey’s arm wrap around his side and pull his securely against his side. He wasn’t taking any chances of loosing Tony out in the middle of nowhere. Again.

Then Barnes issued the order, and they jumped.

 

* * *

 

They’d been walking for almost two hours when they spotted it.

They were all worse for ware, to say the least. Sam’s arm had turned a dark maroon colour, and he could barely seem to focus on walking. Natasha had a limp even she couldn’t hide, and Clint’s wheezing rattled his chest. Steve and Bucky weren’t bad off, but both were sporting a number of deep purpling bruises and more than a few cuts which were bleeding sluggishly.

Rhodey’s legs were struggling; even if the snow wasn’t knee-deep, the amount of time he was on his feet had well exceeded  doctor’s recommendations. Tony hobbled besides him supporting the majority of his friend’s weight, keeping unusually quiet.

They all were silent. The last time anyone really piped up was half an hour ago, after Clint had erupted in heaving coughs and Nat had swore loudly when a splatter of crimson spat from his lips, violently contrasting against the sheet of white snow they were ploughing through. Definitely a punctured lung then, Steve thought grimly, resolutely trying to force down an emerging sense of dread from the pit of his stomach.

An hour before that Clint and Sam had been exchanging quips, keeping up morale. Though at this point, no amount of familiar banter could distract any of them from the fact that the longer they were out here uncovered, the worse off they’d be.

Upon surveilling the crash sight, they found their systems had been hijacked and dismantled, preventing FRIDAY from reading for any other life-signatures or readings of foreign devices on board. One ambitious Hyrda agent had concealed themselves in the belly of the jet, with a huge electromagnetic bomb strapped to their chest. On detonation, it released a shock thought the jet, sending its systems into shut-down.

The agent’s mangled body, proudly clutching the hydra badge on his uniform, was all the evidence they needed to make the conclusion that Hyrda was sending out kamikaze’s now.

They heaved a collective sigh of relief (well, in Clint’s case, wheeze of relief) when Nat announced she spotted what looked like a shack of some kind. Any form of shelter was welcome at this point, they’d just been following a sparse amount of trees in the landscape hoping to end up near water. Usually by water there was some form of civilisation. The trees had grown more concentrated in the lead up to the cabin as it turned out to be, and Steve’s heavy footsteps where all anyone could hear as they all waited at the foot of the cabin, waiting for their Glorious Leader to pry it open.

Not exactly the kind of civilisation they had hoped for, the cabin definitely hadn’t been lived in for a long time judging by how stiff the door was and the coat of dust covering the minimal amount of furniture inside.

They all filed in, up the steps made of cobblestone and through the low arching wooden doorway of the cabin. It wasn’t small, but not exactly spacious for seven people - let alone Avengers - to live in. But it was enough. There was a small kitchenette furnished with an old timely stove with rusting gas knobs, a coal furnace, and a few wooden cupboards that perhaps had a few rations in them - if they were lucky. Across from there was a cosy sitting area, consisting of two ratty sofa’s that wouldn’t look out of place abandoned on a sidewalk somewhere in Boston, an arm chair missing an arm, and an old Turkish rug. in the far right corner was a round wooden table with a five mismatch chairs, all of which looked like they’d probably snap under any of their weights - except maybe Nat (and Tony, but he would _deeply_ resent being called little).

Steve and Natasha got to work searching for possible food in the kitchenette, while Bucky and Clint lead Sam to one of the sofas. Clint sat himself down with a groan, and Tony silently perched on the arm of the sofa, gently prying away the archer’s vest to get a better look at his damaged ribs. Rhodey shut the door once everyone was inside, and noticed the small fireplace tucked behind one of the sofas. Bucky noticed too, and the two silently pushed the sofa into another position so they could access the fireplace, then began searching for anything they could burn. After all, Inside or not, it was _fucking cold._

Clint eyed Tony warily as the smaller man gently felt around his ribs, trying to get an idea on the damage. Since the ordeal with the accords and the barbs Clint had directed at Tony from behind bars, their once playful friendship had become cold and unsettled. Clint had trusted Tony, but after the… _disagreement_ (he refused to call it a Civil War, for gods’ sake), he had questioned whether Tony had their best interests in mind or his own.

Though, Clint did feel moderately guilty for ever having doubted his friend, because yes, despite it all they were still friends. Hell, even he and Nat had disagreed, so maybe he’d been hasty to judge Tony’s motives. _Maybe_.

Tony surveyed Clint for a few minutes, eventually pulling away and looking Clint in the eye.

“Well, you’re not gonna die of a punctured lung,” Tony finally declared dryly, and the room’s tension seemed to alleviate slightly. “I’m not Bruce - though he would just say _'I’m not that kind of doctor, Tony’_ \- but your ribs are definitely broken. You’re a lucky son'f-bitch that it hasn’t punctured anything, but it will if you move too much.”

“He won’t be.” Nat cut in, levelling Clint with a glare that read, _you better not be so long as I’m here, asshole._

“So not gonna die of a punctured lung,” Clint mused, “hooray for small victories.”

“Nah, but you might if you don’t get that disinfected.” Tony said as he nodded casually at the gash in Clint’s other side where his quiver had dug into him on impact of their less-than-graceful landing.

“But why the-” Tony finished Clint’s sentence for him.

“The coughing-up blood thing? Yeah, not what you thought it was. It’s not bleeding in your lungs, but looks like you’re bleeding internally somewhere else. Nothing much,” Tony added when Sam turned to took at the two of the with wide, concerned eyes, “probably just knocked something on the impact, but take it easy, y'know, in case.”

Clint grimaced, then sucked in a sharp breath when Natasha appeared over his shoulder with a rag soaked in alcohol, dabbing it over the wound without so much as a warning.

Steve surveyed the situation from the kitchen; Bucky and Sam were talking in hushed voices, Buck wrapping Sam’s broken arm up in a makeshift swing from a ripped up shirt (his ripped up shirt, he noticed fondly), Nat was sorting out Clint, pretending not to notice the way Clint was glowering at her ankle, which come to think of it was bending rather oddly. Rhodey and Tony sat I front of the fireplace, Rhodey starting up a fire and Tony checking the prostheses structure supporting Rhodey’s legs.

Steve still felt guilt like a wave of nausea at the sight of it.

He and Tony hadn’t spoken one-on-one much since the team had haphazardly come back together. They put their differences aside to tackle the ever growing threat of hydra, and other newly emerging terrorist groups with genocide on their agenda.

While Tony was quieter around him nowadays, he was unusually so at the moment. Steve was about to chalk it up as being concerned for his teammates ( _family_ a small voice at the back of his mind substituted), when Tony quietly got up and wandered over to one of the dubious looking chairs around the table at the back. The smaller man sat down quietly, chair creaking ominously but staying put, and Tony undid the zip if his undersuit, clearly looking for something underneath.

From where he stood, Steve couldn’t see what, but he could see blood, and the way Tony’s hands shook as we went for a bottle of ethanol he’d brought with him to the table. Steve often wondered why Nat seemed so easygoing with Stark, and eventually Steve caught on to the fact the two were remarkably similar in a number of ways. For one, they both chewed out the others for hiding any injuries, taking the responsibility of making them better into their own hands, but then slinking off to lick their own wounds in private.

Clint was now observing Nat’s ankle (“dammit Nat you shouldn’t have been walking in this unsupported for so long” “as if I wanted to lean on you, govniuk, you were spitting blood, it was gross”) so Steve strode over to where Tony was sat, and noticed the way Tony immediately yanked the zipper of his undersuit back up.

“Shy all 'a sudden, Stark?” Steve drawled, a twang of his Brooklyn accent seeping into his words. Tony merely looked unimpressed, but the awkward twitch of his fingers under the table made Steve  pity him, and he dropped the snark.

Steve knelt in front of Tony’s chair (no way in hell would he sit on one of those impending disasters), reached across Tony from the bottle, and without further notice pulled the zipper of the undersuit down, revealing the man’s very battered torso. Tony was about to protest when Steve but in, “I was in the war, Tony, s'not like I ain’t seen fellas naked before.”

Tony ignored the way Steve’s Brooklyn drawl made his heart flutter because dammit he hasn’t felt that way since Before™. Tony was at a loss for words for a moment before his mouth came up with

“You just said 'snot’.”

“I said 'it’s not’, there’s a difference,” Steve paused before adding with a smirk, “shellhead.”

“You totally did not, Rogers, and quit acting like I’m embarrassed. You have googled me, right? A few pages into YouTube and I’m pretty sure Perez Hilton has a sex-tape of mine from the 90’s.”

“You made a sex-tape with Perez Hilton? Gross, man” Clint snorted as he came to perch on the back of the sofa, facing the table Tony and Steve were sat at.

“Don’t even joke about that, I’m shocked and offended and would like you to go away. I’ve had enough of you. Goodbye.” Clint just chuckled in response to Tony, and it felt good, familiar.  There was an unspoken element of hope in the air that things could get back to normal, and Steve ducked his head to hide the smile that played on his lips.

Steve took the opportunity of Tony distracted in his banged with Clint to peek under the fold of the zipper, revealingly a deep cut in Tony’s abdomen. Steve winced before pouring the alcohol at it, holding Tony firmly in place while the other man let out a started Yelp and hiss of pain. He couldn’t tell from the outside of the undersuit Tony was hurt, which was predominantly due to the fact the dark material made it extremely difficult to see the bleeding.

“ _Jesus fuck, Cap_ , could you have given me a heads-up first?” Tony hissed out in rapid breaths as Steve began to reach for the first aid kit he kept in one of the pockets on his utility belt (“you’re such a Boy Scout oh my god, Steve, are you shitting me right now?!” “Barton be quiet”) and pulled out a small amount of thread and needle saved for wounds that even the serum sometimes needed help healing.

“Nope, 'cause you would'a just kept fidgeting - _hold still, Stark!”_

Rhodey just listened to the fuss his friend was making, smiling and shaking his head fondly as he got up from the fireplace where a reasonable fire was now starting to burn, and set down next to Sam where Barnes had not long been sitting.

“How’s it holding up?” Rhodes tried, eyeing the somewhat shoddy-looking sling that hung around Sam’s shoulder.

“Would like to say it’s fine, but, shit if it doesn’t make wanna make me throw up!” Sam laughed shakily, earning a smile from the older man in return. Sam and Rhodey had gotten on like house on fire before the accords, both being military men through and through. Sure, Rogers was too, but after many a late night at college with a seventeen year-old Tony Stark drunkenly ranting about never being good enough for 'Dear-Old Dad’, and then catching wind of what was said on the helical river of their first meeting, Rhodey was less inclined to like the Captain. Yes, it was mildly petty of him but damn that man for making his best friend feel so small. He’d worked very hard to get that out of him over the years, thank you very much, _Rogers_.

It was nice, being able to have a conversation with Sam again without any underlying heated argument. Since hydra’s attacks became more frequent and more concentrated, putting their own differences aside was necessary, and dammit if it wasn’t refreshing to just _talk_.

Natasha watched with a growing sense of fondness at the scene before her, then becoming acutely aware of someone watching her - not that she let it show. Her and James hadn’t ever really spoken since Bucky was just Bucky and not the Winter Soldier. There was a time when she’d have given anything to see him again, to speak to him alone because he was hers. Now, she wasn’t even sure he truly remembered her. He looked as if he recognised her, the same way you recognise a stranger you passed on the street in a dream. He looks at her as if trying to figure something out, which he undoubtably is, but Natasha doesn’t give anything away.

Natasha Romanoff met Bucky Barnes for the first time in a jail cell in Wakanda. Natasha Romanoff met the a Winter Soldier for the first time on a roadside protecting her mechanic. Natalia Romanova met James for the first time as a young girl in the Red Room, but she doesn’t even know how much of her James is left in Bucky.

“Are you just going to loom, Barnes, or can I help you with something?” She asked dryly after a few moments. She eyed James Bucky from where she leant over the counter of the kitchenette. If he was startled he didn’t show it, and simply stepped more clearly into her line of sight.

“S'gonna get even colder soon, did you manage to get much from the wreckage?” He spoke quietly, yet could be heard as clear as a bell.

“Some essentials,” she replied, “emergency food, spare clothes - ones in one piece, that is, flashlights, first-aid, few rounds of ammo. It’s all that I could really recover.” Bucky nodded in understanding, the jet had been a wreck when it landed; they all salvaged as much as they could, but they weren’t exactly in an abundance of supplies.

Almost as if on queue, Clint who had slunk  of at some point to rummage around the cabin emerged what looked like spare rags, throws, blankets, and if Natasha wasn’t mistaken a rug. Sam had also seemed to notice the same thing.

“I don’t care what any of y'all say, I’m not using a damn rug as a blanket. Dibs on the red one.” Sam declared, and Natasha plucked the red blanket  from the pile tossed it in Sam’s direction.

“All right,” Steve announced, standing up from his perching position on the floor, “I say we rest now, get some energy and figure out food when we wake up. After that maybe one of use will be sane enough to think of some way we get outta this mess.”

The nods and hums of approval from the others settled it, and they all began to gravitate towards the warmth of the fire. Bucky secured the door shut, shifting a heavy bucket of wet rocks of coal that sat by the doorframe in front of the door as a half-assed barricade.

Rhodey of course got to stretch his legs out across a sofa to himself, and Clint occupied the other to take any strain of his ribs that he might’ve gotten sleeping on the floor. Sam took the pillows of the armchairs and made himself a makeshift mattress, which no one complained about given the state of his arm.

This left Bucky, Nat, Tony, and Steve to lie on the rug in the middle. For a while they lead awkwardly, trying their upmost to avoid nudging each other, until Nat sighed and let her head roll onto Tony’s shoulder. She felt him tense momentarily underneath her, until relaxing and turning to face her slightly, enjoying the warmth radiating off her small frame. Eventually Steve and Bucky let go of their reluctance and settled into the others, shifting comfortably until the adrenaline of the day wore off, and they succumbed to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Tony woke, it wasn’t light like he was expecting.

They had all been ridiculously tired and hurt - Tony assumed the only chance of it still being dark when he woke up was if he slept until the next evening, which it definitely was not. No way would the others have let him sleep that long, they enjoy distrusting his sleep far too much.

The moonlight made the snow outside glow softly, subtly illuminating parts of the cabin. Tony shifted to sit up slightly, careful not to press on his new stitches thanks to Steve. For a guy with large hands, Steve had a remarkable skill for detail, probably because of all the time he spent sketching privately.

Tony plucked himself out of Steve’s grip, who apparently locked his arms around his waist in his sleep. Steve’d never do that consciously, surely (right?). Looking down fondly at the blonde, the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stood up suddenly, sending chill down his spine - not a pleasant one, either. Glancing around the room, Tony took a sudden intake of breath when he noticed Barnes had silently gotten up too, looking alarmingly alert for such an ungodly hour in the morning.

Barnes’ mouth was set in a thin line, barely making a sound as he breathed. He’s listening for something, Tony realised, when a noise outside drew his attention towards to door. He almost didn’t hear it, but a rustle of movement beside him and Nat was now wide awake too.

Something wasn’t right then.

Soundlessly, the three of them got up and crept across the floor of the cabin, Bucky nudging Steve awake as he did so, bringing a finger to his lips when Steve eyed him curiously and was about to speak up. Steve clearly sensed something was wrong too, and joined Natasha in looking carefully out the window through the drapes, riddled with holes and frayed at the tips.

Tony felt his heart beating in his mouth, and swallowed down the stir of dread pooling in his gut.

Pulling on boots and coats, the four of them regarded each other before Steve spoke in a hushed tone to them, “I say three of us check the area, and someone stays behind to keep watch if the others.” Clint, Sam, and Rhodey were all fast asleep, oblivious to the tension around them, deeply sedated on the pain meds they managed to scramble together from the wreckage earlier.

Tony noticed the other three looking at him expectantly, and he huffed an air of annoyance. Of course, because he was without his suit he should be the one to stay behind, because without it, he’s as good as a civilian. Steve read as much on Tony’s scowl, and sighed gently.

“Stark- Tony, it’s not that you aren’t capable-”

“But I’m not as capable as you, got it.”

Steve didn’t look pleased by this, but ignored the comment in leu of the current situation. Like the fact they’ve probably been found by hydra, who’s forces are currently trying to ambush them.

Sounds about right, Tony mused.  
Nat, Barnes, and Steve took a final once-over of the scene from the window and filed outside, gens turning signals to each other as they went.

Steve head out first, making a gesture behind himself a few yards from the cabin. With his left arm, he raised his forearm up, making an 'o’ shape with his hand.

_Hurry up._

Before they’d slunk out the door, they’d grabbed their handguns fixed with silencers. Nat and Barnes followed up behind Cap in a wedge formation, keeping enough distance between each other to get a good scope of the area around them. Tony craned his neck out the door as much as he could until all three were out of sight. The trees were much denser in this area which made the threat of an ambush much more likely.

Ten minutes past and Tony still hadn’t seen or heard from the others. Rhodey had woken up, not nearly on as main pain meds as Sam and Clint, and had a pistol in hand from his spot on the sofa. Tony cursed whatever hydra goon had set off the EMP immobilising the suit. He and Rhodey had had to abandon most of their armours, not having enough time to get it back into working order. They’d made sure to blow it up first of course before retreating back to the jet.

Tony had kept his gauntlets on, and the reactor of course, and was currently in the process of trying to boot them back up. Without the reactor at full capacity though, it was a long and tedious process.

Another 10 minutes passed (well, actually 8 minutes, 37 seconds, _38, 39…_ ) and Tony heard the muffled sound of a gunshot spit through the silence on the night air. Looking back at Rhodey for a moment, Tony thought _fuck it, they probably could do with some help_ , and made a dash for it out of the door, into the cold biting air outside.

Clicking the door shut behind him, Tony scurried to the nearest evergreen to get some kind of shelter while he surveyed the area. His breath frosted in front of his nose, and be took a moment to control his breathing before heading in the last direction he saw the others go. Following in that direction, Tony regarded the bootprints left in the snow. Hydra issue combat boots had a distinction tread mark, and Tony followed them cautiously. As far as the hydra agents knew, only three Avengers we’re currently out on the scene.

Hearing the crunch of snow underfoot a few feet ahead, Tony poked out from behind a large fir tree, adjusting the silencer into his gun, and picked off two hydra goons in two practised shots. Venturing out and searching the agents of anything useful, Tony heard a commotion a few yards ahead. Setting off in a sprint, Tony came to the edge of a clearing, throwing himself onto the ground before a steep drop into the clearing.

Steve was there, wrestling three agents off his back. One agent deliver a swift jab to his gut, only slightly making Steve double over, before he delivered a far more devastating uppercut to the hydra goon’s chin, knocking him out cold. Steve then grappled with the agent over his back, trying to crush his windpipe with the rifle he was carrying. Steve got a grip on the rifle and tossed his attacker over his shoulders, where the guy landed in a graceless pile at Steve’s feet. Scrambling for a handgun, the agent was cut short with a swift step to the neck from Steve.

The crack of bone breaking reverberated through the trees, and the third agent panicked momentarily before Steve shot him between the eyes in one graceful movement.

Steve was panting, shoulders heaving with adrenaline and fists clenching and unclenching as he caught his breathe. Tony kicked himself internally for not coming out sooner, since they clearly had needed the extra support. Steve was tired, which said a hell of a fucking lot about the current mess they were in.  
Tony was about to make his presence know to Steve when a spot of light caught his eye from amongst the trees a few yards behind Steve, who was busy kneeling down beside the agents, searching them for anything useful. A figure stepped out the shadows, raising a large looking blade into an offensive position.

Tony swallowed hard, then set his face determinedly, raising his own gun directed at the agent. Tony didn’t want to risk yelling at Steve to warn him, since the agents reaction would be too unpredictable. Too many variables he is not willing to test.

Once in range, Tony focuses the barrel of the gun on the mark and pulled the trigger.

_Click_

_Wait, no. No, no, no, no,_

_Click_  
Click  
Click

The chamber was empty. _Fantastic_.

Grunting in frustration and feeling the sudden build up of panic and dread, Tony did the only rational thing he could think of, and lunged.

Steve spun around at the commotion, gun raised, before lowering it when he saw Tony. Tony was leapt down from a hight like a bat out of hell and sent himself and - and a hydra agent (how did he miss that, damn it?) skidding across the clearing.

The agent rolled Tony over onto his back and swung a meaty just at Tony’s nose, grinning when it crunched under the impact. Tony kneed the guy in the groin, turning them both over again and began beating the agent again and again and again until he saw blood. Steve stood frozen for a few precious moments before running forward - and gracelessly slipping on ice.

His body landed with a ear-splitting crack on the ground, and for a moment everything stopped.

Tony had paused, fist frozen mid-air, and the agent’s eyes were blown wide and startled. Steve only had a moment to realise what was happening; the deep echoing crack underneath them, and a split in the ice coming from under his body, headed like a bold of electricity towards the fight I front of him.

Steve didn’t dare breathe.

Another large and ominous sound echoed underneath Tony and the agent, before Tony’s eyes met his, panicked and wide, and Steve barely had a moment to call for Tony’s name before the ice gave way and the two men out on the ice went crashing though the surface into the freezing cold mercy depths below.

_“Tony!”_

 

* * *

 

The shock of the freezing water sent Tony reeling back, thrashing against the water. He felt hands tighten around his jacket, pulling him under, pushing on his head, forcing it down and scrambling over his body.

Tony was loosing the feeling in his extremities, face burning with the cold. The other man forced him down again and again, as if he were nothing more than a buoy. 

_Tony’s vision flashed bright white, the smell of blood and sweat thick in his throat suddenly, the burn on hot sand on his knees - but he was so cold - hands grabbing him by the roots of his hair, the scruff of his shirt, forcing him under vile water, making him retch uncontrollably when they brought him up, only to shove him back down before he could breathe again._

_Breathe, breathe, God he needed to just breathe._

They brought him back up, and the gulped down the hot air like he was starving for it, only when we did, he choked and his airways flooded with ice, choking him intensely. Tony was suddenly grossly aware that he wasn’t in Afghanistan, he was drowning in a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere, scrambling for life with a fucking _Nazi_.

Tony thrashed against the other man, biting down on the hand forcing his head deeper under the surface. He tasted copper in the water around him, kicking furiously to break the surface.

Until a boot collided with his nose, and everything went impossibly darker.

 

* * *

 

Natasha and James had broken off from Steve after noticing stray Hyrda lackeys attempting to establish a perimeter around their refuge. Like the agents they encountered at the base, they were heavily armed, but there were fewer of them this time. Much fewer.

Bucky was never a deep sleeper, especially after the war. Hearing the crunch of snow distantly outside woke him in an instant; he was surprised to see Tony awake - there was no way Tony with his regular hearing would have heard the approaching ambush, but perhaps a part of him sensed it, or whatever, Bucky thought.

Steve had followed the agents who split off eastward, while Nat and he stalked after the ones headed the other direction. The agents must’ve followed them in a jet of their own, though must have been thrown off course after the jet crashed. No doubt the snow concealed their tracks from the wreckage not long after they marched onwards.

Nat was in her element here, she’d trained in worse conditions than this. Raising her gun up, she didn’t shiver even a bit, just followed at the heels of u suspecting agents through the thick foliage. Once they were both in range, they began taking shots at the ambush team, ducking for cover under slopes coated in sheets of snow. Bucky sprung from behind a fallen fir, driving his metal fist into an agent’s chest, hearing it crack violently and the guy propelled backwards into two other agents, who had a moment to look panicked until Nat had delivered two precise marks into their skulls.

Not before long, Bucky and Natasha established their area as clear, before going to regroup with Steve. Jogging through the uneven landscape, kicking up snow as they went, they heard a large commotion ahead. Speeding up their pace, they emerged in a small clearing before Natasha suddenly came to a stop, red locks falling in front of her pale features, flushed pink from the biting cold, framing her face delicately.

“Wait,” she whispered in a low tone, sticking her hand out at the same time, making a stop gesture to Bucky. Buck crouched down low upon seeing the scene in front of them, as if readying himself, monitoring the situation before him.

“Oh that stupid son-of-a-bitch.”

Steve was led on the ice, unmoving but hyper-aware of his surroundings. In his line of sight, Tony was straddling an agent, both of whom were frozen mid-scramble. Natasha raised her gun, reading herself to take the shot if the agent tried anything smart, when the ice cracked - echoing around the small valley they were in, before crunching and collapsing, dropping Tony and the lackey into the inky-black waters below.

 

* * *

 

Steve sprung upwards, ready to jump in to get Tony, when a stiffness overtook his body. It froze his arms at his side, he grit his teeth and trying to surge forwards, only to be betrayed by his own two feet, which were currently digging his heels into the ground.

It’s not the Atlantic, you’re not on that fucking plane. You. Are. Not.

Steve retreated this in his head like a mantra, but still couldn’t will himself to move. Sucking in one last breath of air, Steve jumped as Bucky slid past him, and dove headfirst into the ice.

“Cap! Get back, the ice won’t hold both of you!” came Nat’s voice behind him.

Steve looked vaguely guilty before darting forward, until he saw Bucky break though the surface, Tony tucked under his arm. Through clenched teeth, Bucky hauled himself through the water. After one failed attempt at trying to climb back out the same hole, the soldier resorted to smashing the ice separating him from the bank of the lake. Steve began doing the same, and within a minute or two, was hauling the two men out the lake.

Bucky collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, dropping a limp Tony on his back on the bank. Tony’s eyes were blown wide, and his nose was at an awkward angle, gushing with blood. Natasha scooped him up, supporting him from under his armpits,mane started leading him back to the cabin, Steve and Bucky a few short paces behind.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell us what was going on - is that Ton- _what the hell happened?!_ ” Came Clint’s voice hollering through the tree’s. He was a few yards in front of the cabin entrance, absolutely seething. Storming forward, Clint hooked an arm round Tony and wordlessly helped Nat take him inside.

When Steve and Bucky stood through the door, Sam glared back at them. Shaking his head, he took one last glance outside, and tentatively shut the door. Rhodey had thrown more paper onto the fire, and Tony was set down in front of it. He was dripping wet, and Rhodey threw blanket after blanket over his friend. Bucky lingered back, until Sam approached his side.

“You’re soaked through - don’t try and tell me super soldiers don’t feel the cold, you need to start warming yourself back up, and I don’t care if it hurts your dignity,” Sam pushed Bucky down by his shoulder, plonking him next to Tony, and bringing the blankets that currently swamped Tony over the other man’s shoulders too.

Bucky shifted awkwardly next to Tony, who was barely suppressing the body-wracking shudders escaping from his control.

“Here,” Steve knelt down beside Tony, while the others were pottering around, casting cautious looks out the windows and preparing some kind of herbal tea.

“Thanks - thank you, Tony, you had my back out there and I’m just sorry I-” Steve fumbled for the right worlds, before signing and settling on, “I promise I’ll have your back next time, Shellhead.”

Tony flinched when Steve pressed a cold rag against his nose, screwing his eyes shut at the pain ebbing from the break. When he opened them again, a soft expression passed over the blonde’s features. Tony briefly returned the look, before settling his eyes over his hands.

“I do think you’re capable, Tony,” Steve said softly so only they could hear (well, Bucky could too, but he was strategically very hard on anything but the exchange going on beside him) “It’s just, you take it the wrong way,” Bucky whistled lowly, hissing a breath of air in an obvious cringe, and Steve backtracked quickly.

“I mean- it’s not your fault, you haven’t done anything wrong, you’re just so, modest?” Tony raised his eyebrows at that; not at the way it had been posed as a question, but the fact no one had every called Tony Stark modest.

“You assume the worst out of things when it comes to yourself, but it’s only because, well because I _care_.”

Bucky had to stop himself snorting when he saw Steve glance at him thought the corner of his eye, as if to ask, _was that the right thing to say?_

Clearly it was, because the tension from Tony’s shouldered rolled off, and he gave a tentative smile.

“Back at you, Cap,” and with that, Steve got up and wandered over to the others, giving Tony a pat on the shoulder as he went by.

Tony and Bucky sipped at their tea, resolutely not looking at each other, before Bucky opened his mouth, mumbling into his drink, “'Back at you, Cap’? _God_ , that was awful”.

Tony scowled in Bucky’s direction, who still hadn’t lifted his eyes from his mug - but was definitely smirking into his drink - when Clint plopped himself down on the sofa next to them.

“S'good job you’re rich, or you’d be stuck like that forever man,” Clint interrupted, pulling a face at the awkward angle of Tony’s nose, “ _Shit_ you look ugly.”

Sam swatted the archer over the back of the head, kissing his teeth at the man in disapproval. Rhodey sat on the couch by Tony, leaning down and tilting his friend’s chin upwards, evaluating the damage to his face, before placing a hand either side of his head firmly.

“Man, I won’t lie to you, this will hurt just a little bit,” Rhodey said matter of factly, ignoring the way Tony’s expression morphed from one of confusion to sudden panic.

“No, no Rhodey do not-!”

_Crack_.

“ _Motherfucker_ , you son-of-a- _fuck_!” Tony groaned dramatically, grasping his hand over his newly adjusted nose. The others just chucked around him, until their laughter grew louder and more hysterical. Tony’s groaning turned to giggles, though the occasional fuck hiccuped between them.

Natasha brandished two steaming mugs of tea in front of Tony and Bucky, snorting loudly at Tony’s purpling face. Shaking her head, she fetched a wash-cloth from the kitchenette sink, and carefully scrubbed the trail of blood cascading down Tony’s nose, lips, and chin.

Daylight was starting the break over the horizon, illuminating the snow outside, casting a soft glow into the cabin.

 

* * *

 

“Uh - what the fuck is this?” Sam asked carefully, eyeing the viscous white-goo Steve had just played up in front of him.

“C'mon its not that bad, it’s just porridge and- stuff. It’s good for you! _Probably-?_ ” He muttered the last part to himself, eyeing his own creation dubiously before settling down in his seat on the back of the couch, facing the small table.

Bucky, Natasha, and Clint all ate the food wordlessly, getting it down their throats without even tasting it. Rhodey did the same, albeit with a grimace, while Sam and Tony prodded at it, eyes filled with concern.

Should it be this sticky? Tony’s eyes screamed at Sam, who just helplessly shrugged in response.  

“Just eat it, Wilson, we can’t exactly order take-out right now - it’s what we’ve got.” Steve said, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Well we didn’t actually _try_ -”

“What would we do, make smoke signals?” Rhodey grinned at his friend.

The room settled into a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the scrape of cutlery against the various pots and pans they ate from.

“You reckon you could piece something together?”

Tony looked up and noticed Barnes had directed the question at him, all eyes on his expectantly. Tony set his spoon down and leant back in his chair, considering.

“Well, sure. It won’t be hard per-say - I can salvage something from the tech on your suits, make a communication devise or something that tells someone where we are. If we’re lucky, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be looking for us-”

“They are” Natasha stated matter-of-factly, before letting Tony continue.

“-okay, but we’re in the middle of nowhere, and with what we have to hand, I doubt anything I could make from it would reach far enough, we have no satellite dishes or anything to transmit a strong enough frequency-”

“The Hydra base,” Sam cut in, “it’s risky - really risky, we’re down by quite a bit - but it may be the only realistic chance we have to get a strong signal out fast. And let’s face it,” he said, looking at their various current states of disarray, “we won’t manage without proper medical supplies and food out here for much longer.”

Steve nodded at Sam, then turned to look at Tony who - despite having a huge purple bruise forming over the bridge of his nose and around his eyes - looked at him determinedly.

“Alright,” he agreed, “We prepare everything we’ve got, then we head out at sundown.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been out on worse ops with even worse conditions, Cap, I’ll manage with a broken rib.”

Cap had decided just he Bucky and Nat would be going out armed, taking Tony with them for the technical stuff, as Bucky put it.

Rhodey and Sam were fairly content this - Rhodey wasn’t ready to engage physically with the enemy without his armour at the moment, and Sam trusted Steve on this one. Besides, they had to watch Clint.

“One wrong move and that broken rib becomes a punctured lung, and we’re royally fucked if that happens, Clint” Steve said sternly, challenging Clint to protest again. When Clint opened his mouth, Steve raised his hand, “That’s an order, Barton. Just because you could go out right now, doesn’t mean you should. It’s not a necessary risk.”

“He’ll stay put,” Sam spoke up, waltzing over to the table where the team were gathering together what supplies they had salvaged - dividing it into what was useful and what they could sacrifice to Tony to be disembowelled of its technological innards.

“Tony has a broken face, why does he get to go out?” Clint challenged, though given the fact he was now resting on the couch with his feet up, he’d backed down about going out himself.

“He won’t go into critical condition under too much strain, unlike you, and he can still move his limbs,” Steve shrugged a backpack on over his thick jacket and uniform, securing his shield to his forearm, “and he’s kinda important for the whole getting help thing.”

Tony grinned devilishly at Steve, who just huffed an amused sigh back.

“ _Kinda_ \- don’t let it inflate your ego.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Bucky huffed, trudging through the snow, “you _care_ about him?”

Steve sighed, having expected this conversation. Since the coming together after the accords, the divide among the team had never felt more clear. It cut deep, and God if it wasn’t painful. The way they physically broke off from each other in missions.

Thing only changed one night when Clint, in all his anger at Tony, interrupted a personal moment. Tony had been sat in the dark of the Avengers a Tower communal room. They all lived there again, a grudging decision they made - as if forcing two broken halves of a vase would fuse back together upon contact. It would take more than proximity to fix the mend.

 

> The room hadn’t been lived in in a long time, filled with ghosts of memories of old movie nights, homey meals, game night and conversations that spiralled on for hours.
> 
> Clint couldn’t sleep, being away from home got to him a lot lately. God, he missed them all. He’d wondered in the dark room, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, reminiscing of more comfortable times.
> 
> What he hadn’t expected to see, was Tony Stark, leant over a grand piano - they all had assumed was some extravagant decor choice - with his shoulders shaking silently. Clint was about to turn round, until a pang grew in his chest. He and Tony used to be good friends. They shared the same witty sense of humour, used sarcasm as a shield, and used humour oozed from them as they told stories.
> 
> Damnit.
> 
> He’d wondered over, wordlessly sitting by the other man as his trembling fingers hovered over the Ivory keys
> 
> “My- ah,” Tony steadied his shaking voice, coughing away the catch in his throat, “my mom, _mi mamma - mia bella madre_ , she taught me to play.”
> 
> Clint listened carefully. Tony didn’t speak about his mother, especially since finding out about her death, the real reason, but she clearly meant the world to him. Tony had gingerly played the piano, and they began to talk, and eventually laugh. They watched movies, Tony spoke about his mom, Clint spoke about his family. One time he mentioned missing being able to come home to family, to hold them when he came home. He lived mostly at the tower for his duty, and he and Laura and agreed that his Avenging life stayed away from their home on the farm - there was to be a regular family, to keep his children safe.
> 
> The others gradually joined them in watching movies, and things began to pick up again. It was still… _different_ … but it was better, getting better, at least. They were fusing the two pieces back together, there was no hiding the mark left behind.
> 
>  

Steve had reached out to Tony, thought he other man was still hurting, and in truth Steve was too. But no matter how much Tony seemed to blow his fuse with the other man, how he took things badly and snapped, they seemed to be settling on even grounds again.

His feelings for Tony had never really gone. He pushed them down when he did what he had to do; but now, bringing things back together, he couldn’t keep the lid on much longer. After Tony had saved his skin, fallen in the ice for him, Steve could feel his effort to talk to Tony weren’t hopeless. Just maybe, the other man had been deflecting as his own way of keeping a lid on his emotions.

“I do, yeah,” Steve looked down at his feet, kicking snow out his way, pushing on. The Hyrda base was two miles away now, Nat leading the way, followed by Tony, the rear brought up by Steve and Bucky. Luckily for Steve, the wind was coming towards them, so their voices wouldn’t be carried to Tony’s ears.

“He tried to kill us, remember?” Bucky eyed Steve carefully. Steve looked sharply at Bucky, stopping himself from snapping when he noticed the calculating look Bucky was casting his way.

“No, he didn’t,” Steve admitted to himself, “he was pulling his punches - he, he could’ve shot you with that missile, instead he just used to to trap you. He showed us mercy, despite-” Steve glanced up at Tony, gazing at the smaller man, striding forwards determinedly.

“I know. I wanted to make sure you did too, punk. He cares about you too.”

They eventually reached the base, only visible by a few bunkers inconspicuously poking up through the snow. They were concealed as old war bunkers, but Steve had studied the layout religiously, and recognised which one was a concealed entrance.

Natasha stepped up on the ladder on the side of the bunker, lifting the trap door, motioning Bucky to follow her. They couldn’t go in, guns blazing this time. They had to be tactical. Natasha and Bucky had the best stealth training, they’d go in, take out four guards, and take their uniforms.

When Natasha and Buck disappeared through the door, Steve straightened himself, holding his hands out after Tony in case he slipped, who was scaling the ladder. Steve stared despite himself, feeling his Catholic Guilt swing and punch him in the gut when caught himself ogling Tony’s ass above him. Not that he stopped, would in their right mind would?

Tony got up, and Steve followed quickly, pretending he’d just been scouting the area. They sat at the top, waiting by the door until Buck would come up and give the go-ahead.

Steve watched as Tony broke of a chunk of ice around the skirting of the bunker, bringing it up to his nose, hissing but then sighing with relief at the cold press. The bruising had darkened considerably, but his eyes still stood out from his face.

Tony had beautiful eyes, so dark you’d almost mistake them for black, but upon looking closely they were a gorgeous combination of chestnut and mahogany, glittering with emotion; framed beautifully by long, thick lashes. After knowing Tony for a while, Steve realised why the man wore sunglasses out in public so much. He had is media façade, but not even that could conceal what his eyes revealed. Tony’s eyes exposed his soul, opening him up like a rose.

And those eyes were gazing at his. Steve felt a spark in his belly, the sudden dryness of his mouth - a metallic clang rung from below them, and the two men shot up and aimed their guns at the door, which creaked before swinging open, revealing Bucky’s plain expression.

“Care to join me, fellas?”

 

* * *

 

They split off into pairs, since hydra agents on patrol usually were in groups no larger than three unless they were headed somewhere important, like to secure the perimeter. The base was much scarcer than it had been their previous visit, which sent a wave of satisfaction through them all.

They’d shaken them up good, and their forces were scattered.

Natasha and Tony marched in unison toward the communications room, while Bucky and Steve patrolled the corridors surrounding the room, ready to notify the other pair of any suspicious activity. They couldn’t blow their cover before getting the message to S.H.I.E.L.D out.

Tony had emptied his pocket, which contained an improvised devise which would temporarily and discretely lower the security parameters of the system, long enough for them to send an encrypted signal to Director Fury.

Natasha stood guard outside the door, while Tony busied himself with setting up the plan.

“What’re you doing, agent?” Tony spun round at the voice, thankful he decided to keep his helmet on, visor down. Natasha entered the room, discretely shutting the door behind her.

“We’re under strict instructions to send an urgent message to headquarters.” She lied easily, without a trace of any American accent.

“Under whose instructions?” The man challenged. He wore a similar get-up to standard agents, but was without a helmet and appeared to have some kind of merits adorning his jacket. Ah, so a Nazi with brownie points, must be fairly high ranked here, she thought.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the jurisdiction to disclose that information, sir.” Tony supplied - he made a living for the first half of his life bullshitting to a board of directors and wealthy benefactors - he could pull a lie from his ass when he needed.

“Well, given that I run the operation here, I grant you permission to disclose,” he gestured a hand out, as if inviting them to speak. Tony shrugged at Natasha, who had already walked up to the man and snapped neck in one swift movement.

Tony winced as turned back to the monitors, stitching on the device and getting to work on the coding. He’d memorised the digits needed to send Fury a direct signal in code, he’d done it enough times.

Nat dragged the man’s body behind a desk, before heading back towards the door, looking through the glass panel for anyone approaching.

An electric chirp sounded from the computer Tony was leant over, fingers tapping away furiously, “I’ve sent the signal, but the tech here is - is _ancient_ , it’s gonna take a few minutes to send.”

“How long do you reckon?” Natasha asked, brow furrowed curiously.

“I’d say ten minutes, give or take - but that means _this_ ,” he waved at the device he made, “is going to stop covering up our tracks in about five, so…”  
“There’s gonna be a gap where they’re gonna notice what we’re doing.” Natasha concluded, sighing and the nod of Tony’s head.

“Good news is they won’t be able to intercept it unless the physically dismantle this computer, so we’ll have to hold them off long enough for it to reach Nick, then get the hell outta here.”

Natasha gave a confirming nod and slipped out the door, ready to track down Steve and Bucky to relay the information. They’d need them there to defend the room.

Five minutes passed, and as if on queue, sirens howled throughout the base, lighting turning a pulsating red. Voices declaring unauthorised personnel rung from the speakers I. The building in various languages. Tony straightened himself and tore off the sleeve covering his single remaining gauntlet, finding solace in the familiar whine of the repulsers firing up. Heavy footsteps were approaching, when Steve burst into the room, gun raised.

Natasha and Bucky appeared in the doorway, walking backwards in a crouch, open firing into the corridor.

“How do you suppose we get outta here?” Bucky called over the sound of gunfire, ducking behind the cover of the reinforced doorframe. Steve turned to Tony, who stilled before aiming his gauntlet skywards. Firing, a large hole emerged in the ceiling from the impact of the blast, and cold air whipped into the room.

“The building has ventilation above it to release carbon dioxide, since it’s totally underground - those bunkers act as an airlock, which is what makes this place so hard to detect. Our best bet is to get out through the dead space above us, since we’re not exactly in the position to just walk back out the way we came.”

Natasha reeled backwards, the sound of a bullet ricocheting the side of the door.

“Yeah, I can agree with that.”

The minutes passed by painfully slow, the four of them taking up positions where they could aim into the corridor, taking shots at over-confident agents. Eventually, a ping rang from the computer, indicating the signal was sent.

“Thank fuck-” was all Tony said before Steve was marching up to him, hoisting him onto his shoulders.

“-Steve! For God’s sake _I have a heart condition!_ ” He grumbled, swaying on Steve’s shoulders, before sighing and pushing up on Steve’s head, coming to a shakey balance stood on the man’s broad shoulders. Reaching up, he pulled himself up through the hole he’d created, shimmying into the ventilation tunnel it had revealed.

Nat was next, running at Steve in a practised move, jumping off his shield as he propelled her upwards - without exerting too much force (he wanted her to reach the ceiling, not go _through_ it). She swung herself up, shuffling down after Tony to make room for the other two men.

Bucky drained the last of his cartridge, before shutting the door, sliding the rifle between the handle  to hold off the agents from coming in. He and Steve jumped up, easily pulling their weight into the vent one after the other - their only difficulty was squeezing their shoulders through.

They crawled far enough until coming to a stop. Steve had been directing them, having analysed the buildings layout, guessing which way would get them closest to an exit. They heard voices coming from inside the vents being them - they’d managed to get into the room, then.

Tony pulled out a screwdriver and undid the bolts on the casing of the vent below them quickly, dropping down onto the floor below. The others followed closely behind him, when they heard the click of someone clicking the safety off their gun.

Between them and the ladder escalating to the exit, was an experienced-looking agent. He’d clearly anticipated which exit they were headed too, and decided to take them down himself.

“So what - you decided to come down here, a lone gun-slinger, to save the day or- am I close?” Tony questioned the agent, hands raised tiredly at the barrel of the gun currently pressing against his temple.

The agent had been hiding in the shadows, seizing the opportunity of Tony’s turned back from where he dropped out the vent to use him as a bargaining token.

“I have nothing to prove, Mr Stark,” the agent snapped bitterly, voice dripping in what sounded like a Scandinavian accent, pressing the gun harder against Tony’s head.

“Sure looks like it from where we’re standing,” Steve grumbled darkly. The agent only grabbed Tony’s arm, pulling the man closer to him and pressing the gun at the base of his skull, eyes manic.

“Drop your weapons, now, or I swear to God I’ll pull the trigger,” when the others gave no response, the agent laughed, “You thing I’m lying? Believe me, it would be an hour to execute this man, I’d do it happily even if it was the last thing I did. Try me.”

Steve dropped his gun to the ground, ignoring Bucky’s frustrated groan. Despite this, the other man let his weapon fall to the ground with a clunk. Natasha made no sign I moving.

“You too, bitch. _Drop it, now!_ ” Spittle flew from the agents mouth, and Natasha loosened her hold on her weapon - and the agent visibly relaxed when he saw it slip out her right hand - dropping down a few inches before her left hand snapped it up again, firing two precise shots between the man’s eyes. His body fell into a heap on the floor, foot twitching a few times before permanently stilling.

“You stretched that out on purpose, Romanoff,” Tony’s voice accused her, though was sorted with the tone of fond amusement wrapped around it.

“Of course I didn’t, I’m very professional, Stark.” She said innocently, strolling past him and already scaling the ladder.

Bucky stared after her, torn between bewildered, jealous, and impressed. Steve leant in to his friend’s, raising his eyebrows knowingly and pursing his lips together to hide his amusement.

“She’s uh - she’s pretty good I guess.”

 

* * *

 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

The team were all settled on a quinjet in far better shape than their current one, trashed in the middle of some Norwegian wilderness. Bucky considered Natasha carefully as the woman sat next to him, filling with the chamber of her gun.

“You were -” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to dig pack into his past and turn over the right stone that would give him the answer he knew was there, but couldn’t find. He remembers her face, her hair, the way she moved, the way she hunted. He felt… _something_ , when she looked at him, but he hadn’t placed his finger on what it was and where it came from.

“I know I knew you, and not just on the side of the road with your - technician, was it?”

“Mechanic, but close enough.”

“Right, mechanic.” He wet his lips, “I know you’re important to me, I just don’t know why.”

Natasha stayed silent at that, but he was trained just like her to notice the tiniest quirks of a person. She hid them well, but in recent years, she’d been spending time with a very different crowd of people than to the ones she was around growing up. She’d let some things slip, like chewing the inside of her lip, just slightly, but enough that he noticed.

She was unhappy - hurt, even.

“Can you help me?” He tried, earning a cautious look from the woman, “I want to remember, I want to know why I feel… this, when I see you.” He finished quietly, having revealed a close intimacy about himself.

He set his jaw hard when Natasha nodded, a little more warmly than she was a few moments ago. She patted his knee, letting her hand linger for a moment, before walking up to the cockpit.

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

On the other side of the jet, a medic was evaluating Sam’s arm, raising it to see when and where it hurt, nodding sympathetically when the man grit his teeth. Rhodey was laughing with Clint, who was currently shirtless with a large bandage wrapped around his torso, applying light pressure to the break. Steve was smiling at the two men, laughing alongside them every so often, while Tony was sat at Rhodey’s feet, receiving a gentle head massage that made his eyes roll shut.

When he opened them, he caught Steve directing an open and fond gaze his way, which transformed to mild panic when he realised Tony saw him. Tony felt a leap in his chest, and just grinned genuinely at Steve - not one of his practised media-smiles plastered over his face, but a soft and slightly crooked smile, easily forming on his face.

Steve felt his heart flutter with hope for the first time since the accords.

 

* * *

 

After the debrief, the others enthusiastically agreed to head to Clint’s farm for a few days. Clint was beaming, barely able to stand in one spot when they touched down, and he ran out, scooping Nathaniel into his arms. Laura smiled and kissed her husband, while Natasha crouched down in front of Clint’s daughter, who began talking to her excitedly.

“Laura,” came Steve’s warm and grateful voice, and she turned at him smiling gently, “thank you for this, it’s so good to see you under better circumstances.” She waved him off fondly, and patted his arm softly.  
“Steve, you got my husband home in one piece, that’s better than what most people can manage - it’s my pleasure.”

Looking over Steve’s shoulder, Laura noticed Tony approaching cautiously. She grinned at him brightly, which seemed to ease his tension.

“Tony! Thank you last time, for the tractor, I never got the chance to thank you properly-”

“Oh no-no it was no problem, I like doing that kinda stuff, really,”

Clint openly smiled at Tony, approaching him and pulling an arm round his shoulders. “He ain’t lying, babe, he’s kinda weird like that. Likes pulling things apart and sticking them back together - it’s his thing, just go with it,” he whispered sarcastically, earning a snort from Tony.

Inside, everyone had settled after eating a warm meal ( _“Thank god for real food, and not that wallpaper-paste Steve calls porridge,” “Hey come on! It wasn’t that bad, Sam.”_ ), and were comfortably chatting in various places in the living room.

Rhodey was watching cartoons with Clint’s kids, joined by Natasha who has sat cross-legged in the carpet, braiding Bucky’s hair. Laura and Clint were squished together on a love-seat, talking in hushed voices, sharing private smiles, and Sam was engaged in the cartoons more than the kids, unsurprisingly, every-so-often asking if anyone wanted a cup of tea or juice. He was good like that.

Steve was leant in the kitchen against the counter, watching his team through the doorway. Tony joined him, covered in motor oil after being under Laura’s car, which had been acting up lately.

“You look better, despite all that,” he motioned at the various stains on Tony from the oil, who just laughed softly in return.

“Yeah, painkillers will do that,” he grinned.

They sat in a comfortable silence before Tony backed himself on top of the counter, swinging his legs as he did so. Watching amusedly, Steve turned to look at him.

“I’ve missed this, being like- like a _family_ again,” Steve admitted.

Tony quirked his lips and sighed dramatically, “Oh America’s golden boy, we didn’t stop being a family. Families argue and threaten to kill each other, it’s all very normal.”

Steve eyed the brunette dubiously, “That’s not how a functional family operates, Tony.”

“We’re hardly functional.” Tony deadpanned, before nervously chewing his lip and speaking up again.

“A functional person can just, you know, ask a person out on a date instead of kinda-” he pulled an awkward face, flailing his hands around, “-pining from afar and being kinda a jerk to the other person when they’re just trying to talk to you.”

“Bucky tell you that?” Steve smiled, trying very hard not to let a ridiculously goofy smile take over his face, feeling warmth flushing his cheeks and stomach. He settled the palms of his hand on the counter either side of Tony, leaning in closer.

“No - Rhodey, he’s very wise. An old-soul and all that.” Tony mused, gaze flittering over Steve’s face, his chest, his arms.

Steve hummed in response, losing his own fight at keeping an embarrassing smile off his face. It was worth it though, when Tony let a similar one cross his features, rolling his eyes, and cupping Steve’s face in his hands, cradling his head tenderly.

Steve leaned in the last few inches, pressing his smile against Tony’s. They kissed slowly, intimately, and so gently, as if scared the other person would suddenly realise what was happening and jerk away.

After a few moments, it became clear neither of them had any intention to back away, and Steve pulled on Tony’s hips, sliding him towards the edge of the counter and flush against his body. A few blissful minutes passed of deep, passionate kissing, when the sound of little footsteps tottered into the kitchen, before sharply turning to yell into the living room.

“Daddy you said we couldn’t sit on'the counter!”

There was a pause before Clint’s confused voice called back, _“You can’t! It’s not hygienic like I told you!”_

“How come they gets to do it and’re been’ all gross n’ _kissing_ as well?”

Tony and Steve just laughed as a collective shout of disbelief sounded from the kitchen, save from Bucky and Rhodey, who just hollered suggestively, whistling and howling from their positions I front of the TV.


End file.
